Summary

“That’s it,” Osomatsu says finally, getting up and tugging up Choromatsu by the arm, who squawks, crinkling some of the documents in hand, “put those down, we’re dancing.”

“We are not!” Choromatsu snaps, trying to pull his arm out of Osomatsu’s grip and sit back down, “we haven’t even gone over—“

“Tomorrow! We can go over them tomorrow!” Osomatsu whines, “who in their right mind would bring paperwork here? Do me a favor: a dance, a drink that’s not godforsaken juice, and no more pie charts for tonight.”